


Say Something

by ladydragon76



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Cyclonus is really bad about communicating his feelings.  Tailgate is done waiting and hoping.  Whirl is Whirl and totally going to help his friends out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** IDW  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Cyclonus/Tailgate, Whirl  
>  **Warnings:** Sticky, Whirl being Whirl, Rough Sex  
>  **Notes:** This was fun to write. In fact, I probably had a little too much fun writing Whirl in particular. ^_^ But what’s REALLY fun about this fic, is that it’s a gift for Snee from anonymous! I hope you enjoy , Snee!

“Harder!” Whirl demanded. “ _Harder_ , frag it!” His pincers tore at the berth padding, and no matter how he tried to slam his aft back into Cyclonus’ thrusts, the glitch wasn’t letting him move enough. His overload was tingling _just_ out of reach, and it wasn’t like Cyclonus didn’t _know_ how Whirl liked it by this point. “Come _on_!”

“Shut up.” Cyclonus’ voice was low, only just audible under the bright ring of their plating. It filled Whirl’s room with sound as the mech gripped Whirl’s waist with an implacable hold and plunged his spike in over and over. They weren’t gentle with one another. Frag that, Whirl thought. Pits, he _really_ wanted Cyclonus to be rougher, and he just _wouldn’t_!

“Sadistic glitch! Fragging thought you were a warrior!” Taunts rarely worked on Cyclonus, but that never stopped Whirl from trying. “Afraid of a little valve? Can’t take it? Sure ain’t takin’ it right now,” he ranted, vents heaving. He could feel it. Just there, damnit. There was a tingling across the surface of his array, a pressure banding around his hips, and a tightness twisting in on itself deep in his belly. If Cyclonus would… just… “I frelling _hate_ you! Never clangin’ with you again. This is pathetic!”

“I will believe that,” Cyclonus paused on a gasp. “When you stop begging for more.”

“I hope you rust! I hope you rust! I hope you rust!” Whirl chanted, then keened as Cyclonus _finally_ really started to slam into him. “Oh frag yeah! Ah! Yeah. Yeah. Yeahhhh!” The word crescendoed into a staticky scream as the charge burned up through Whirl’s lines. It drove ecstasy through his sensornet, and just as he started to come down, Cyclonus overloaded too. A few brutal thrusts and all that molten heat flooding his valve threw Whirl back over the edge.

Cyclonus was quiet in his pleasure, but that was fine by Whirl. He made more than enough noise for the both of them, even after it was over. Cyclonus hissed an invent as he pulled his spike free, but Whirl moaned, unabashed and shameless.

“Frag,” Whirl said and flopped to the side. “Couldn’t have just done that from the start?”

Cyclonus tipped his helm a little, optics flat, if a little bright still. “No.”

Slagger of few words, Whirl thought. “Eh, whatever. That was good enough, I guess.”

Cyclonus might have smirked a bit, but he stood and pulled a cloth out to clean himself up with, blocking Whirl’s view of his face. “I told you when we began this that I would not injure you.”

“Yeah, but I thought that was like-” Whirl stretched out on his back, one arm lifting to wave a pincer around as he searched for the right words. “Like you were just being all weird or something about not murdering me while we clang.”

Cyclonus looked back down, optic ridge arched. “That as well.”

Whirl snorted a laugh, then stretched. “Ok. Naptime.” He waved Cyclonus at the door. “Come back when ya can’t resist me any longer.” He wasn’t sure, but that might have almost been a sound of amusement from Cyclonus as the mech slipped out the door.

Whirl inhaled and sighed deeply once he was alone, then sank into his berth. Cyclonus wasn’t _all_ that bad, and at least he was willing to interface rough and hard like Whirl liked. No attachments or silly emotional slag like all the other lovey glitches on the ship. No thanks, he thought as a nice, sleepy, post-overload recharge pulled him down.

~ | ~

Tailgate was awake, curled in the middle of his berth and trying not to think about _it_ when the door to their quarters opened. Cyclonus moved in near silence, probably assuming Tailgate was recharging. It was late, after all, but how could he? Tailgate knew how Cyclonus felt about him. He was small and annoying. A liar and faker, and all he did was push and push for Cyclonus to want him back. He’d had some hope when the singing lessons started, when the warrior had saved his life and seemed so concerned and distressed. Cyclonus had saved Tailgate’s life by using his own spark! Tailgate loved him. He’d been desperate for someone, _anyone_ at all to like him at first and had latched onto Cyclonus because they were both so old. Then he’d been infatuated, Tailgate could see that now. There was a difference. Not a bad thing, because he figured he’d still been learning, but now it was definitely love.

Intense, unending, agonizing love.

That was not returned in the least.

Tailgate tried to lie still as Cyclonus settled on his berth, but the sharp scent of ozone filled his vents. The sweet, cloying smell of lubricant followed, and Tailgate tortured himself with estimations of how hot Cyclonus’ body still was. His respiration was controlled, but a little faster than usual.

Whirl. Primus, help them all, why _Whirl_? How was Whirl, of all mechs, a better choice of lover than Tailgate? Obnoxious ‘Nutjob’, who, by the by, Tailgate had thought Cyclonus hated. Whirl was loud and unstable. He was cruel despite occasionally being funny. Tailgate would worship Cyclonus, but Cyclonus went to the crazy, angry, violent x-Wrecker instead.

Tailgate carefully cycled his vents, optics burning a bit. Jealousy was an ugly, petty thing, and he felt ugly and petty in the wake of all those selfish thoughts. Whirl, somehow, made Cyclonus happy, and really that’s what Tailgate wanted for the mech even over his own painful desire to be the cause of that happiness. He didn’t know how, or even if he could stop the tearing, clawing yearning in his spark, but he knew he couldn’t recharge there in the same room with Cyclonus. In fact, he should look into switching quarters. Swerve was still looking for a roommate, wasn’t he? That would be… interesting, but it couldn’t be worse than driving himself mad waiting up for Cyclonus to come home reeking of Whirl every few nights.

Quietly, and without looking at Cyclonus, Tailgate rolled to his feet and hurried out of the room.

Cyclonus half sat, plating slicking down tight and spark giving a harder pulse as Tailgate fled from the room. He knew how Tailgate felt. Who on the _Lost Light_ didn’t? And that was part of the problem. They were all waiting and watching, tense and ready for the first sign that Cyclonus was abusing the naïve little mech.

Tailgate _was_ certainly naïve. Too open. Too trusting. Too willing to hand over his spark to the first mech that caught his optics, and lacking in life experience. Compared to Cyclonus’ long and eventful life, Tailgate couldn’t possibly know what he wanted out of a relationship. Not that Cyclonus believed for an instant that they could have anything serious between them regardless of Tailgate’s feelings. They were too different. Simply existing in the same pre- _Ark_ era of Cybertron meant nothing. Cyclonus was not gentle, as proven with Whirl. He was not patient, nor was he ignorant of how different he and Tailgate were from one another. Perhaps the old adage of ‘opposites attract’ was true for some, but those other couples couldn’t possibly be as disparate as Cyclonus and Tailgate. Cyclonus had done horrible, dark, wrong things, and worse, had believed in those things with his whole spark at the time. Tailgate’s worst crime was telling a fib in the hopes of gaining a few friends to care about him.

No. Nothing could come from a relationship between them but pain for Tailgate. Cyclonus had taken up with Whirl to help funnel his lust, and that was what he would do until Tailgate realized there were far better mechs in the universe to attach himself to than Cyclonus.

With a heavy sigh, Cyclonus pushed himself back up off his berth. He wasn’t going to be able to recharge, so he might as well take the opportunity to clean himself up properly.

~ | ~

Tailgate was trying to find a mech to trade quarters with. The words cycled through Cyclonus’ mind on a loop as he stomped determinedly toward Whirl’s quarters. Tailgate wasn’t just actively avoiding him, he was trying to leave. It was exactly what Cyclonus thought the little mech _should_ do, but the reality that it was happening tore at his spark with angry claws, ripping and shredding. Pain burned a hot fire in his chest, invisible and inescapable.

His fury needed an outlet, and there was only one mech he knew could take it. Not just take it, but actually _wanted_ it. Cyclonus didn’t bother to press the call button, and instead pounded on Whirl’s door with the side of his fist. 

“I didn’t do it!” Whirl’s voice was muffled but still clearly annoyed. The door opened, and his single yellow optic went wide when he saw Cyclonus. “Oh. You look fragged. Wanna come in and take it out on me?” He stepped back, field already flaring with interest as Cyclonus shoved past him. “Finally!”

“Quiet,” Cyclonus growled. One hand shot out to wrap his fingers around Whirl’s throat, then, with a slight shift and twist, the mech crashed to his berth on his back. “Don’t speak. Not even to beg. Don’t say anything.”

How a faceless mech could smirk was beyond explanation, but Whirl did and -blessedly- stayed silent. He spread his arms and legs, then retracted his array cover. Cyclonus popped his panel, spike extending even as he planted a knee on the berth between Whirl’s sprawled legs. He spared a glance, but Whirl gave him the smallest of nods, so Cyclonus gripped the narrow waist and plunged into a valve already well lubricated.

Whirl arched, plating chiming as he shuddered and gasped. There was a short snap of static- the sound of a vocalizer being quickly, forcibly offlined, and Cyclonus growled in approval, then shut his optics and drove into Whirl with brutal thrusts. He narrowed his focus to the hot, slick grip on his spike. The way their nodes dragged charge and pleasure along the length with each plunge and retreat. It was base and greedy. Cyclonus, even with Whirl, had never been so inconsiderate of his partner before. He took, ignoring and shutting out everything else as he chased mind-numbing bliss. Distantly, he heard shouts and cries, felt the squeeze of legs around his waist, the lift and wind of hips under his own.

Cyclonus pressed himself down harder, helm against the berth padding, face turned away from the mech under him, and mouth open as he gasped for more air to cool the fire in his frame. He had meant to come purge himself of aggression and pain, but his own thoughts betrayed him. He wanted it to be Tailgate writhing beneath him. It should be Tailgate’s clever fingers and perfect feet scraping up his plating.

It was wrong, but Cyclonus could see it so easily. The fantasy bloomed to life, just a flash image of a small blue and white mech, visor bright, back arched off the berth beneath him, his valve fluttered and squeezed. A sharp scream echoed past Cyclonus’ audial, and his whole frame tensed as overload gripped him tight and shook him to his core.

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus whispered- no, barely breathed. It should have been impossible to hear. It should never have been said.

“What?” Whirl asked, then pushed at Cyclonus’ shoulders. “Whoa, hold on. _What_?!”

Cyclonus bit back a curse, and shoved himself up and off of the mech. “Don’t.”

Whirl sat up, optic narrow and head slowly shaking side to side. “Nuh uh. I mean, slag me. Thought you were at least here with _me_ when we did this.” His helm tipped to the side, and Cyclonus’ threatening glare was ignored. “Meh. Whatever. So, you like the little guy that much, huh?”

“I do not want to speak of this.” Least of all to Whirl, Cyclonus thought.

Whirl hooted a laugh and pointed a pincer at Cyclonus. “Oh~ You got it _bad_ , don’t you.”

Cyclonus stood and set about cleaning himself up enough to walk through public. “Leave it.” He faced Whirl, and in all seriousness promised, “I will rip your spark out and feed it to you.” Without waiting for a response, which would only be more of Whirl’s special brand of torment, Cyclonus strode from the room and headed toward the washracks. He felt filthy.

~ | ~

Whirl stared after Cyclonus until his door slid shut. “Hn.” He watched the door another few seconds, then shoved himself off his berth. “Leave it. Yeah right. My shiny aft, I’ll leave it.” A cloth was hastily swept over his inner thighs and array, then tossed aside. He was already keying open the door as his array cover locked back into place. Now just where was he most likely to find Tailgate?

Swerve’s bar ended up being the last place Whirl looked, and of course, that’s where Tailgate was. Poor little scrap. He looked the way Cyclonus’ field had felt of late. “Yo!” Whirl shouted as he crossed to the table Tailgate sat at.

“Whirl?” Tailgate’s visor brightened, then quickly dimmed. “I-”

“He said _your_ name!” Whirl poked a pincer at Tailgate.

“I- What?” Tailgate glanced around, but Whirl didn’t bother. He was used to an audience, and this was important.

“Cyclonus,” Whirl replied as he plopped down into a chair across the table from Tailgate. “Came to my quarters for our usual tension relief session all fragged- Primus’ lugnuts, he finally clanged it as hard as I’ve been tellin’ him to. Swear that mech can’t take direction in the berth. Anyways,” he waved a pincer around in the air, “when he got off, he said _your_ name.” He folded his arms on the table in front of him and watched Tailgate in silence.

Lots of silence. Everyone in Swerve’s was listening in.

“Why… Why would you-?” Tailgate covered his face with his hands and keened.

“Why would I what?” Whirl asked? “Clang Cyc? Cuz he’s good at it. Why aren’t you? I thought you liked him, and now we know he likes you. I mean, damn. Ya just don’t go moaning someone’s name when fraggin’ if ya aren’t thinkin’ about them while doing it.”

Someone snickered. Someone else agreed with Whirl.

“Whirl, I hesitate to speak for another person,” Rung began, “but perhaps this was not the appropriate venue to discuss such a subject.”

Whirl blinked, and looked at the orange mech. “Don’t you know how much Tailgate likes Cyclonus, Eyebrows? I thought everyone did.” He turned back to Tailgate and tapped the tip of his pincers on the table. “I’m tryin’ ta help you here. He wants _you_. So… yay, right?”

“Whirl,” Rung said, but Whirl pulled his arm away from the light touch.

“You can quit just mooning after him, and go get some,” Whirl continued. He was _trying_ to be helpful here. Why the frag wasn’t Tailgate happier about this? And why was Rung vaccinating his arm?!

“Whirl,” Rung said again in a whisper and pointed.

Whirl turned his helm, heard Tailgate gasp, and then spotted Cyclonus. He looked like he really meant that spark-ripping thing just then. “Oh good. Now you don’t even have to hunt him down,” he said to Tailgate.

The barflies parted, no one wanting to be close to Cyclonus as he stood there and growled a rumbling note, but instead of the mech diving on Whirl, he spun around and stormed out of the bar without a word. Whirl shook his helm. Mech was hopeless.

“Cyclonus!” Tailgate cried. His chair wobbled and fell as he threw himself off it and gave chase. “Cyclonus!”

“That’s right! Get him!” Whirl shouted after Tailgate, but the smaller mech ignored him and the chorus of encouragements and catcalls that started up.

“Cyclonus, wait,” Tailgate called again. He felt humiliated and embarrassed himself, so could only imagine how Cyclonus must feel, but Whirl had one thing right, and it made hope surge hard through Tailgate’s spark. One didn’t just yell random names while interfacing.

Tailgate ran all the way to their quarters, hoping that was where Cyclonus had gone when he lost sight of him. Luck was with him, because the door opened to reveal Cyclonus standing by the window and staring out into the depths of space. “Cyclonus?” he asked, only stepping in far enough for the door to shut behind him.

Cyclonus remained still as a statue for another long moment, then turned, hands clasped behind his back. “I owe you an apology.”

“What for?” Tailgate asked, daring to move a little closer. “I mean, it’s kind of pointless to apologize for Whirl. He’s… Whirl.” He offered a slight shrug and inched forward another step.

Cyclonus held himself so tense it had to hurt. “Not for Whirl, but for-” He fell silent and dropped his gaze from Tailgate to the floor just off to the side.

“He didn’t make it up, did he?” Not that Tailgate thought Whirl had been lying anyway. If anything, at first, he had thought Whirl was angry with him. It was difficult to tell manic fury from manic glee from manic excitement with Nutjob, and it wouldn’t exactly be out of character for Whirl to hold Cyclonus saying Tailgate’s name against Tailgate.

“No, he did not,” Cyclonus finally said, his deep voice only just audible.

“And you’re… sorry that you thought about me and said my name?” Tailgate slid one foot forward. They still had half the room between them, but he wanted to be closer. Cyclonus wouldn’t hurt him, but he didn’t want to crowd the mech. He _did_ , however, want to be closer in the hopes of trying to read that tightly leashed field.

“Yes,” Cyclonus replied, and Tailgate froze in place, his spark flickering nothing but pain. “I should not,” Cyclonus continued, “think of you in such ways.”

“But I think of you like that all the time,” Tailgate whispered.

Cyclonus heaved a sigh, and moved to sit on the edge of his berth. “You misunderstand me.”

“Hard to understand when you never say what you’re thinking or feeling.” Cyclonus looked so dejected that Tailgate moved over to sit next to him. “I really care about you,” he said, holding off on the exact word because this was all pretty overwhelming already. “Sometimes I really think you care too, but then you shut me out again. You took up with Whirl, which really didn’t make any sense, but then it’s not really my business. I have no hold on you.”

Tailgate waited, his fingers knotting and re-knotting in his lap, and finally Cyclonus spoke. “Whirl is release and nothing more. I know you care about me, but you have barely experienced life. It feels wrong to begin something with you when you have no basis of knowledge for what you truly want out of life. Or a partner. You haven’t lived enough to make an informed choice.”

Tailgate looked up and scoffed. “Gee, thanks for that.” Cyclonus glanced down, optics dim and just a hint of sadness in his field under the flare of confusion. “I’m not stupid, you know? You think I can’t look at you, or the others, and decide who I want as a lover?” Red optics blinked and brightened in surprise. “I can,” Tailgate insisted. “I want you, not them. I was trying to leave you be so you could be happy with Whirl, but if you want me too, then what are we waiting for?” He spread his arms. “I missed out on _millions_ of years. I don’t want to wait around anymore, Cyclonus. If you don’t want to see if we could make something work, then I’ll leave you alone, but I’m done waiting.”

Cyclonus mouth opened, but no words came out. Tailgate shifted to his knees and lifted his hands to cup Cyclonus’ face between them. “I want to try,” Tailgate said, his voice soft as he leaned in. “I know what I feel, and I’m glad you want to protect me from all your dark history, but I don’t need that. I need you.”

Cyclonus closed his optics and tipped his head forward until their forehelms rested together. “Are you certain?”

Tailgate nuzzled his mask against Cyclonus’ face, spark throbbing faster. “Yes.” He purred as he shifted closer. “If you want me, I’m all in.”

Tentative hands fluttered to Tailgate’s sides, then tightened to pull him in closer. “Alright.”

Spark thrilling, Tailgate slid himself into Cyclonus’ lap and pushed his face in against the thick neck cables. He could smell the cleanser Cyclonus had washed with, and though he knew why the shower had been so recent, he shoved those thoughts aside. He had Cyclonus there and willing. Tailgate wasn’t going to waste a single second, and he was getting the feeling that Cyclonus wasn’t going to push this forward himself. He curled his fingers into transformation seams, braced his legs against Cyclonus’ thighs, and pushed. Cyclonus took the hint and laid back, one arm wrapped around Tailgate’s middle to help keep him close as he settled in the middle of his berth.

“I am not even certain that we are… compatible.”

Tailgate snickered. “One way to find out.” Though he wasn’t going to rush this. He had permission to touch Cyclonus, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Pushing up, Tailgate knelt over Cyclonus’ waist, squirming just a little to drag his panel over the pelvic plating he sat on. He pushed his hands up, then dragged them back down the thick chest armor while sharp talons teased along the gaps of his own plating. Cyclonus drew lines of tingling awareness down Tailgate’s sides to his hips, then his thighs. It took an override to his panel to keep it from springing right open, but Tailgate really didn’t want to do this too fast. He could feel the heat under his aft, which only made him hotter, and it wasn’t like he had a ton of practice controlling himself. In the hopes of ignoring the way his valve clenched in hungry desire, he turned all his attention to Cyclonus.

Pale hands stroked and explored. Tailgate’s smaller fingers were able to slip into the narrow gaps and glide along cables and lines. He tugged them lightly and leaned down to vent warm air along a particularly tight seam. Cyclonus shivered, hips lifting. Tailgate glanced up and met garnet optics. “This good?” he asked.

“Very,” Cyclonus said, voice sounding like a distant rolling thunder. It shot a bolt of lust straight to the pit of Tailgate’s belly.

“What do you like?”

“This is very pleasant.” Cyclonus swept his hands along Tailgate’s back, then reached down to grip his aft. Tailgate gasped and his panel retracted as Cyclonus’ fingers slipped into his thigh joints and scratched lightly along the cables.

Lubricant slicked Cyclonus’ plating as their hips rocked together again, and Tailgate’s face heated. So much for taking it slow. Molten need curled up in his belly, and his valve clenched again. A tingling ache settled over his plating, and only pressing and rocking against Cyclonus alleviated it. And not much at that. “I- it could be more pleasant. I think.” Tailgate cried out, lust scorching his lines as one finger circled around the rim of his valve.

“I’ve no doubt.” Cyclonus’ words were followed by a click, then that single finger carefully pushed into his valve.

Sensor nodes fired, and Tailgate pushed himself down hard, desperate for more. “Oh slag me!”

“Easy,” Cyclonus said.

“You won’t hurt me,” Tailgate panted, his hips winding and rocking. It was just a finger and it already felt better than his fantasies.

“No. I will not.”

Tailgate clung to Cyclonus with his face pressed to purple chest armor, his own efforts forgotten. A deep purr vibrated through him, and his vents hitched and caught as a second finger was added. Cyclonus’ touch swept pleasure deep into his valve, fingers carefully stretching the slick mesh lining and easing open the rings of calipers that kept trying to clamp down against them. Tailgate moaned, a hoarse sound laced with static, and trembled.

“You needn’t hold back,” Cyclonus said, and plunged his fingers deeper still. “An overload will help open you.”

Tailgate wanted to reply with words, but all that came out was a needy whimper. The very idea that Cyclonus _wanted_ him to overload, was working toward it more deliberately now that he’d spoken, notched Tailgate’s charge up that much higher. Panting, gasping, and embarrassingly soon, he choked out a short cry and shook through a release that swept out over his sensornet and made his spark flare hard.

Cyclonus growled softly and pulled his fingers free with a last slow stroke. His free hand gripped Tailgate’s waist, and then the blunt end of his spike rubbed over the surface of the array before pressing to the valve rim. “If it hurts, tell me.”

Tailgate keened, and tried to squirm down to take more than just the very end. “I will!” It wouldn’t hurt. Primus, he _needed_ it. He planted his hands on Cyclonus’ chest and pushed himself up, knees spread as wide as he could. Cyclonus’ vents hitched as his spike slid in. “See?” Tailgate asked, his vents heaving. “Not hurting.” He leaned forward so he could lift back off the spike a little, then pressed back. Cyclonus’ hands clutched at his waist and held tight, but he didn’t stop Tailgate.

It was a slow, dragging pace, but it set Tailgate’s sensornet on fire. Better than that, better than the charge that licked over his circuits and spun his spark faster, was Cyclonus. His mouth was parted in a soft ‘O’, optics the deepest garnet. His whole face was open, emotions playing over it in a way Tailgate had never seen before. He watched, thrilling as the tension seeped back over Cyclonus expression. Each thrust came just a little firmer, and he bit at the side of his lower lip.

Tailgate’s vents heaved in an effort to cool his overheated frame, but he stayed as quiet as he could and absorbed every deep, rumbling moan Cyclonus made.

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus hissed, his neck arching back.

“You needn’t hold back,” Tailgate crooned, then rolled his hips down and back. A gasp caught in his intake as Cyclonus’ spike slipped in far enough to ride over the deepest of node clusters.

A sharper sound escaped Cyclonus, his hips bucking up hard, then heat flooded Tailgate’s valve. It was more than enough to shatter the universe around Tailgate too. Lightning shocked through his systems, a short scream burst from his vocalizer, and ecstasy tore him apart and remade him.

When he finally collapsed forward, it was all he could do to stay conscious. He laid draped over Cyclonus’ chest and whimpered helplessly, body tingling and aftershocks dancing through his lines. Cyclonus pulled, and Tailgate was dragged up his body and off his spike, then rolled to the side. No words were spoken, but Cyclonus pressed his helm to Tailgate’s and curled his larger frame around him. Tailgate wanted to say _it_ , but this moment was too perfect to interrupt with mere words. Instead, he snuggled in and let his field radiate what he felt for the other mech. It was tentative and barely there at first, but Cyclonus’ field meshed, reflecting the same emotions back to Tailgate.


End file.
